


Loosing Bounds

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Episode Related, Gap Filler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-17
Updated: 2003-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:51:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Justin returns the bracelet and Brian thinks about what happened.  Gapfiller for 304.





	Loosing Bounds

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

He looks at me, his eyes holding something like a silent smile, a silent promise. Of what? 

 

“I believe this belongs to you,” he says, holding the cowry shell bracelet out to me. I know his hands, steady hands, smooth hands. Made for stroking, touching, caressing. Hands made for pleasure. Like silk. Like satin. Not big, but not small either. Pale. Warm. Familiar. 

 

My face shows nothing of it. I let amusement enter my eyes, tell him with them that I understand. “Thanks.”

 

Again this smile, knowing, soft, intimate. He knows me. He thinks. “Any time.”

 

He bites his lower lip for a short moment, reminding me of the teenager who once stepped into my apartment, terrified, yet determined to get through with it. Jesus, why am I thinking about it now? 

 

“Here,” he steps forward, still holding the bracelet, and takes my arm. His fingers are even warmer than I remember as he slings it around my wrist. It’s foreign there all of a sudden, like something that no longer is a part of me. Heat surrounds him, touching me like an invisible force, fusing through my skin, infusing every cell of my body. 

 

The tips of his fingers brush my skin as he tries to tie a knot, fixing the bracelet to my wrist once again. God, he is warm. Too close, too familiar.

 

Too much.

 

Finally he’s done it, and looks up at me with those incredibly blue eyes. I tried to find them, but there is no other pair like it. Some have the hair, some have the body, even the skin, but none of them have the eyes. 

 

Too much.

 

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your boyfriend?” It’s the easiest defense. Remind him of the other, the romantic one, the one who knows to use the words, who plays with them like he plays his violin. They’re probably having picnics on the floor three times a week, and the fiddler is playing serenades, naked. I have to keep from gagging. 

 

“Yeah.” Again he looks at me with these incredible eyes. So blue. So bright. So …

 

I raise my brows, amusement all over my face. Thank God I practiced the expression a hundred times. Show nothing. Give away nothing. Never give anyone an edge. Don’t let them hurt you. Never show them they can. Thanks Jack, thanks so fucking much.

 

He turns away and I want to shout ‘stay’, but I don’t. I simply watch his back, see him walk down the stairs, disappearing, only the noise of his feet reaching my ears. Justin, I want to shout, but I don’t. 

 

Instead I turn into the loft, not bothering with the door, and open the knot at my wrist. It’s not mine anymore. It’s tainted now, by a boy who was brought up with bigotry and hate. Like me. Will he be me?

 

I have to laugh as I toss the bracelet into a corner. Why do I care? I don’t give a shit. That’s what they all think. 

 

Does he think it too? Is he happy? Did he find what he was searching for? Does he moan when the fiddler buries himself in his tight little ass? What do they talk? Do I come up in their conversations? 

 

I laugh again. Why do I care? It’s not as if any of that matters. I’m brilliant. I’m beautiful. I’m Brian Kinney. My mother believes I’m some kind of a monster. But that’s okay. It doesn’t hurt me. 

 

Because I don’t give a shit.


End file.
